Stay
by YasashiiKawa
Summary: Rukia has an identity crisis and rings in the new year with some angst and semismut.


**Stay**

Renji took up any culture's customs that involved drinking, so when he bounded across the training field to her whooping and waving his arms, she was not surprised.

She'd seen his calendar (stolen from the Urahara Shoten) marked in red with each occasion that would require her to accompany him to pubs and bars all around the world. He swore it rounded out their characters to know so much about the "unique celebrations of humans." Byakuya disagreed and called these celebrations "nothing more than another excuse for his division and his name to be made a mockery of," but allowed Renji to go, enjoying the peace with his vice-captain gone.

There was no getting out of it. Arguing and coming up with excuses only made Renji more determined to get her to go. She'd long ago learned to pick her battles with the fiery redhead. He dragged her along, meeting up with Matsumoto, Ikkaku, Yumichika, Hisagi, a reluctant and downtrodden Kira, Iba, and most of the 11th on the way. She put on a smile and joked with everyone, acting as though nothing was bothering her.

But she felt empty inside regardless of the alcohol she tried to fill herself with. She knew how this night would end. She was torn between hating herself, and hating the man who would inevitably end up convincing her that sex would be a great idea. Honestly, it wouldn't take much convincing. She wanted it just as bad as he did, even if it wasn't him she wanted. His face brought her nothing but pain and she'd learned how to channel that pain into mindless lust. Sex was an escape for her.

The night ended with most of them passed out at Ishida's apartment. The humans were always willing to go with them on their drinking adventures. The Shinigami were were often the life of the party.

"Happy New Year, Rukia," Ichigo's voice whispered as he leaned down to place a quick kiss on her cheek. They'd walked to his house. She would not be sleeping in the closet tonight.

She smiled. "You know, it's not the Japanese new year."

Ichigo's eyes crossed momentarily as his slightly inebriated mind processed her words. "So? It's someone else's new year, we should be happy for them, right?"

"Right."

She waited as he fumbled with his keys and followed him as he led her to his room. His shushing was loud and unnecessary, but it made her chuckle to herself.

As soon as the door closed behind them he was on her, his lips all over her face, his hands trying to get past the zippers and buttons of the dress Ishida had made for her (complete with a Quincy cross on the inside hem of her right sleeve).

"For fuck's sake...," he grumbled, ripping the soft material. "Oops."

She looked up at him and waited patiently for him to calm down. He always rushed into this, as he did with everything else in his life. He often fucked like he fought; aggressive and energetic. Definitely goal-oriented. Most times she didn't mind. The sooner this farce was over, the better.

He sighed and tried to compose himself, going cross eyed again. He pouted and stepped back, bumping against the bed. His hands were fidgety and his eyes were all over her. It flattered her that he was still so nervous after having done this so many times.

She shook her head, amused. Her hands deftly undid the buttons of the dress and she let it fall to the floor. There, the hard part was done. Her eyes caught his and she inhaled sharply at the look in his eyes. No matter the fact that she would hate herself when this was over, it didn't mean she didn't enjoy it while it was happening.

No man looked at her the way he did. Not even Renji. When his eyes were on her, she felt like the only woman in the world. She could feel his love and desire for her radiating off him. It was almost as visible to her as his spirit thread. Her mind let her see him as himself. It did not change him into someone else yet.

"Rukia...," His voice was deeper now, laced with need and he came forward to grab her and smash their lips together.

She allowed him anything he wanted. Her body was his. She dropped her head back and exposed her throat to him, earning a hum of approval. She tried to keep her eyes open, begging her mind not to take him away just yet. He deserved so much more than this.

She couldn't recall him getting undressed. There were clothes strewn across the floor and his desk. His skin was scorching under her fingers and she revelled in the blistering heat of him engulfing her. His reiatsu was a palpable force in the room, pressing against her, demanding her attention. But his kisses on her neck and strong arms around her, carrying her to his bed, forced her eyes closed and he soon vanished, replaced by a memory.

She stayed her tongue before it betrayed her and kissed the mirage above her with passion she'd bottled up over the years.

It was frantic this time. He rushed for fear that the alcohol he'd had too much of would ruin his stamina. There was not much foreplay. His large hands cupped her breasts appreciatively for a moment, then swept down her body to hoist her closer to him. She didn't care. All she wanted was to feel him inside her, thick and hot and more filling than anything she'd ever known. As always, she wanted this time to be the time where he would burn himself into her. She needed him to be the one to keep her into reality, no matter how much her heart wanted him to be another.

Even when she opened her eyes, it was Kaien she saw. Kaien's dark hair with her hands buried in it, Kaien's strong body over hers, moving in and out of her. That body knew every move to make, knew everywhere to singe her with it's fire. She even saw the Shiba tattoo on his left arm as he braced himself beside her head. The deep voice that whispered his love for her was Kaien's, not Ichigo's. She stared at gentle blue eyes as they took her in, watching her face carefully. They flickered brown for a moment then returned to blue as a pleased smile graced his lips.

"I love it when you look at me like that," He lowered his head and she squeezed her eyes shut again, biting back tears. She would not cry for him, or for herself.

Her thighs tightened at his waist as his thrusting became erratic and rough. His groans were caught in her hair and she was nearly lifted off the bed with the force of his orgasm. She came soon after, pushed beyond her limits as her name tumbled out of his mouth like a mantra. He kept thrusting, slowly riding out his own pleasure and sending shivers up her spine.

When he'd finally moved off her and settled behind her, sleeping soundly, reality set back in. Orange hair and no tattoo. She knew this man's eyes to be a gentle brown. _This man_...

Hate swelled up and consumed her for a blinding moment. She almost hit him. But her hand squeezed the arm he draped across her instead. Her own emotions never failed to amaze her at how much she wanted to blame Ichigo for this whole thing. It was not his fault he looked so like Kaien. It was not his fault that she would never love him the way he wanted her to. No one was to blame for unrequited love centuries old.

She refused to cry. There was a time and place for tears and laying in his bed after celebrating some other countries New Year was neither. She would smile at him the next morning and play the bashful maiden, blushing and sneaking him flirty glances. She would pray that next time would be the time he would remain himself. She would pray she would still want him if he did.


End file.
